


Harp Lessons

by Zimra



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Kid Fic, POV Child
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-07
Updated: 2013-03-07
Packaged: 2017-12-04 13:45:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/711405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zimra/pseuds/Zimra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A young child and his grandmother discover that they have something in common.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Harp Lessons

Makalaurë loves visiting his grandparents. They live in the biggest house in the city, because Grandfather is the most important man in the city, Father says. Grandfather is tall and dark like Father, but he laughs more. Father laughs, too, when Grandfather is around. Grandmother is tall, too, with the most beautiful golden hair Makalaurë has ever seen. Father never smiles when he speaks to her, but Makalaurë can’t imagine why. 

His favorite part about visiting is when Grandmother sings. She has a wonderful voice, and sometimes she plays the harp, which Makalaurë likes even better. As he watches from his mother’s lap, he tries to copy the graceful motions of her hands, but his short, childish fingers can’t quite manage it.

During one visit, Grandmother notices Makalaurë’s attempts, and when she finishes playing she glides over to sit beside him and Mother. “Would you like to try playing, Makalaurë?” she asks him, smiling kindly. 

He nods, eagerness overcoming shyness, and she gives the harp to his mother to hold. “Here. Place your fingers on the strings, like this,” she instructs, modifying a basic position to suit his small hands. She nudges his fingers slightly, until he’s holding them in exactly the right place. “Good. Now pull your fingers back, like this.” She demonstrates, and he does his best to mimic the gesture.

A note, soft but unmistakable, rings out through the room. Makalaurë looks from his grandmother to his mother, unable to contain his excitement. “I did it! Can I try it again?”

They smile at each other, and Grandmother says, “Why, you’re a natural! Of course you may try again.”

Makalaurë will not be dragged away from the harp until it’s time to leave, and even then his mother has to threaten to leave without him before he agrees to put on his shoes and follow her, Father, and Maitimo out of the house. The whole ride home, he can talk of nothing but harps and Grandmother.

“She said I was a natural! She said I should get lessons! Mama, can I have harp lessons?” 

His father seems annoyed, but as usual Makalaurë isn’t sure why, and he’s too worked-up to take much notice. Mother gives Father a Look, and says, “I think your grandmother is right. When you’re a little older, if you still want to learn, you may have harp lessons.”

Though Makalaurë protests that he wants lessons now, his mother doesn’t budge. For the next few months, the house is filled with the sound of Makalaurë practicing his singing, often at the top of his voice. Maitimo takes refuge in his bedroom, and throws pillows at him if his younger brother dares to disturb his sanctuary. Father occasionally sticks his head out of the forge to grumble to Mother, but neither of them have the heart to tell Makalaurë to stop. 

But before their next visit to his grandparents, Mother takes him aside and tells him very sternly that he must be on his best behavior. “Just because it’s your begetting day does not mean you don’t have to be polite,” she warns, and he nods earnestly. He would never think of upsetting Grandmother - she might never let him play her harp again!

The visit is even better than usual. Grandmother serves all his favorite foods for his begetting day, and his whole family is there: Aunt Findis and Aunt Lalwen arrive together, as usual; Uncle Nolofinwë and Aunt Anairë bring baby Findekáno, who is just starting to crawl on his own; and Uncle Arafinwë brings Eärwen, a pretty woman with silver hair who Mother says is betrothed to him. And all of them bring gifts for Makalaurë, wonderful new toys that he is told he must share with Maitimo (though Maitimo seems more interested in playing with the baby).

At last, Grandmother comes over and sits down beside him. “Here is my gift to you, Makalaurë,” she says, handing him a bundle wrapped in dark blue cloth. He opens it carefully, and gasps when he sees what’s inside it: a beautiful wooden harp, the perfect size for his small hands.

“Thank you, Grandmother!” he cries, and throws his arms around her. She hugs him back, laughing.

“You will need one of your own. Your mother tells me you’re starting lessons soon.” She winks at him. 

He spins around in his chair to look at his mother. “Truly?” he asks, and she nods. 

“The day after tomorrow, I believe,” she says. “It’s your present from your father and me.”

A moment later, Makalaurë is engrossed in his new gift, practicing the notes his grandmother showed him during their last visit. Grandmother is impressed. 

“He has a very good memory for music,” she tells his parents, who are sitting together watching Makalaurë play. “Nerdanel, Fëanáro, your son will go far, I’m quite sure of it.” And with that, she leaves him to his practicing, crossing the room to hold baby Findekáno and talk to Eärwen and Aunt Anairë.

As soon as Grandmother looks away, Makalaurë sees his father smile.


End file.
